


The Aftermath Is Always The Same

by tinycrown



Series: adored characters: anduin [12]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 3 + 1 fic, Fluff, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Short n sweet, anduin being a clingy baby because he is, progression through the ages, sometimes just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycrown/pseuds/tinycrown
Summary: After every major event in their lives, sometimes Anduin gets clingy. Sometimes Varian does.After all, the Wrynns were just a small family of two.
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn & Varian Wrynn
Series: adored characters: anduin [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1221878
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	1. Closed Case

Ever since they’d returned to Stormwind from Dustwallow, Anduin had hardly left his side. 

It was just like a young child to be clingy when their parents were away for too long, no less when said parents were proclaimed either _dead_ or _missing._ On top of all of the trauma he’d been put through with _her._ But Varian didn’t understand. Anduin had always gone to Bolvar when he was feeling frightened, upset, even happy. Anduin hadn’t usually thought to go to him for much of anything anymore. Not unless Varian approached him first. 

But Anduin had started coming to him more and more and it was confusing him. He didn’t outwardly reject it- of course not, he was all too happy to provide comfort, however… awkward and strained it may be. He tried his best, and Anduin seemed content. 

After his studies the ten-year-old would curl up in one of the chairs in his office and read, occasionally walking to his side and leaning over his shoulder to ask what he was doing. Inquire about the process. How he did it. Why he did it. Varian found talking to him calming, and he would assume it was the same for Anduin. Then he’d return to his chair and continue reading until Wyll came to fetch him for his next lesson. 

But now, as it stormed, thunder rumbling and rain pelting against his windows, flashes of lightning blaring through the curtains, Varian waited. He waited patiently, with bated breath and perked ears, for the familiar pitter-patter of light footsteps to come down the hall. 

He jerked at the sudden sound of thunder crashing through, and with his own ears strained, he heard a yelp from just down the hall. Anduin’s room was just at the end of the corridor. Varian frowned, and pushed himself up to sit and stare at the door. _If I can hear him from this far,_ noting that his own chambers were closer to the beginning of the corridor, _he must be terrified._

He decided that tonight he wouldn’t wait for Anduin like he usually did. The boy was probably too scared to slip off of his bed and into the dark, foreboding halls of the castle. His bravery was still limited. Childish things still scared children, no matter their place. Fear of the dark, of the shadows, monsters- especially of thunder. He remembered traversing the halls of the keep at night, impossibly tall and too quiet. The cracks in the walls were the only thing he could focus on.

As much as Anduin marveled rainstorms, loud thunder still made him skittish when it echoed throughout the castle. 

He noticed, whenever it stormed during the day, Anduin would nearly jog to closed-off rooms whenever he was forced to move due to his studies, usually the library or his office. His leg would bounce and his hands would always be preoccupied, whether it be with helping his teachers, the librarian, or hells- even the _nobles._ He always found something to do, and was never still. 

Varian preferred to brood with the storm. He’d stare out the window and wonder how long every drop took to reach the soil. Tapping his quill, scratching the polished wood of his desk with the tip of it as he watched, transfixed. Unflinching at every strike of lightning, every roll of thunder. 

He remembered that Anduin asked, _how do you do it?_ But… he couldn’t really tell him why. It reminded him of something warm and yet angry. A far-away home that was always out of reach. But he could hardly explain melancholic philosophy to a child. As smart as Anduin was, as old as his eyes seemed to be- sometimes much older than Varian’s own- Anduin wasn’t prepared for that kind of talk. Neither was he. 

He couldn’t just _tell_ Anduin how much he wished to take them away and give up being king. He’d always wanted a quiet life but… always knew that it could never happen. The freedom he had as Lo’gosh… he wanted _that_ feeling again. 

Varian pulled back his covers and let his feet touch the floor. It wasn’t cold because of the fine rug that spanned most of his chambers. Swirls of gold that covered fuzzy blue fabric. He prepared himself for the chill as he exited his chambers, shivering slightly as he was exposed to the cold stone keep that he called home for so many years… and yet not the home he was born in. 

With a long stride and concern, he made it to Anduin’s door in no time. He raised his fist hesitantly to knock, the sound short and sharp as his knuckles tapped against the wood. He heard a muffled voice speak, something close to ‘come in’, so he didn’t hesitate when he opened the door. 

He saw a small, trembling lump under the few thick comforters that donned the child’s bed. A tuft of sandy hair poked out from the top, and watery blue eyes followed. Without seeing the rest of him, Varian knew the relief when he saw it. Anduin collapsed back into his bed with a strangled breath and uncovered his face, keeping the blankets close to his chin.

“The storm?” He already knew he was right about that, but the way he cowered. Not from just the sound, but something _else._ Anduin was curled up on his side with his shoulders hiked up in a way that his arms could lift up and protect his head if needed. What was he trying to hide _from?_

Anduin gave him a teary nod and his arms raised from under the blankets, clearly wanting to be held. Varian complied and sat on the side of the bed, pulling his young son into his arms and holding him tight to his chest. 

“Would you like to come to my room?” He asked softly, carding his fingers through his hair. He always marveled at every feature that belonged to his late wife… but finding small similarities he shared with his son- like his thick, stubborn hair- was always a small joy. 

He felt Anduin nod against his chest, and he swept his child up. He returned to his chambers just as quickly as he’d left, and he tumbled into bed not moments later, letting Anduin get settled beside him. 

Curled into his side, tiny, easily breakable fingers gripped his nightshirt in a way that concerned the king. He spread his palm along his arm and rubbed it slowly, hoping to ease the boy. He was so tense- so scared. But of what? 

… He didn’t exactly get to ask, because within moments Anduin was fast asleep. He was still tense, but his mind seemed to allow him to fall into slumber once he knew that he would be protected. 

Varian’s arm tightened around him, staring up at his ceiling.

He didn’t mind the clinginess. As long as it helped Anduin feel better… and it made him feel better too. 


	2. Bolvar Always Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bolvar's death, Anduin feels hopeless to help his father mourn.

Mourning Bolvar was a great feat that tore into Anduin's mind. He was exhausted from hiding his tears in the soft fabric of his pillows and providing fake smiles in the public eye. Actively knowing that he wouldn’t get to say goodnight to Bolvar anymore or greet him in the morning. Anduin was still expecting him to magically appear at the dining table so it didn’t feel so lonely with just his quiet, stony father. 

Father had gotten even quieter since he’d returned from Northrend, so in return, Anduin refused to leave his side. However dismissive he may be, the prince was stubborn. He didn’t want to leave him alone for too long. 

Anduin stayed in his office between lessons, asked for him to accompany him to the library, asked him to come to the courtyard to practice his bow with him, just to see how he was doing progress-wise.

Father had never  _ once _ during those times revealed any reason as to why he was so quiet, why he was always tense, why his fists always clenched so hard they ripped the seams of his gloves.

Anduin could see the pent-up anger building behind his eyes. It was never directed at him, no, but something else. Something greater than what he could ever be. But the deciding factor of who he would take his anger out on was something different entirely. 

One day, Anduin decided to accompany him to the training yard in Old Town and practice with his bow while his father practically destroyed even the best of the best of their army in sparring. Anduin knew that it wasn’t just his sheer strength that allowed him to win every fight- it was the drive of anger and frustration that he was taking out on these poor, bruised men. 

At one point he opted to stop practicing with the moving targets to help bandage the poor soldiers up. 

“What is  _ wrong  _ with him?” One had asked Anduin, earning a cuff on the ear from his superior, who happened to be standing nearby. 

“Do not disrespect your king!” He barked, pinching his ear before moving away to observe the fights again. Anduin’s brows furrowed as he continued to wrap his wrist with the salve-smothered gauze just underneath. 

“He’s just angry.” Anduin said, focusing intently on the movement of his wrist. The man had looked over to his father, mercilessly beating down his next opponent, but never going too far. Just waiting until his enemy’s rump hit the dirt- and then he backed away with a snarl curling across his lips, taunting his future sparmate. 

“So… he’s angry… and he’s taking it out on us?” He had asked once he turned back to face Anduin. The prince finished wrapping his hand and put it back into his lap, staring away from the ring and down toward the city again. His sore fists clenched, and he braved the sight of his father- moving as aggressively as a tank and whipping the poor soldier into the pole that held the ropes, watching as he slid to the ground with a pained groan. 

“I’m sorry,” Anduin muttered out an apology for his father, “I’m trying to help.” His voice was pathetic when he spoke to the man, and the soldier raised an eyebrow at him.  _ But he won’t say anything... _ A wash of grief fell over him again. Bolvar always knew what to say to his father. He’d heard them speak so many times- eavesdropped or not- he just wished he knew how to make him feel okay again. But Bolvar wasn’t there anymore. Bolvar was  _ dead.  _ He was dead and he wasn’t coming back, and he wouldn’t ever know what to say to his father because Bolvar knew everything. He- he was always so  _ kind  _ and gentle but he never backed down- he never gave up. Even when his father was screaming in his face, when he was punching walls. So frustrated and, and  _ so,  _ so  _ angry. _

Anduin felt his face screw up and a sudden flow of tears dripped down his chin onto his clenched fist. He hiccuped and stood up, the bandages and gauze and salve falling from his lap. He flinched at every sound of fleshy fists meeting skin and bone- every grunt and yelp and yell from the ring. 

He wiped frantically at his face. Knowing there would be many questions from citizens and guards of why he was out by himself, he sought to find the nearest tall tree to scramble up and hide. 

He found one just outside of the yard, hidden in a nook between the gate of the training yard and a brick-built house. Only the bush of the tree was visible. Anduin, still small enough to slip through the divot of house and gate, pushed himself through. His fingernails chipped as he pulled himself up the bare trunk, scrambling to grab onto a branch and push himself up onto it with his arms. He held his scraped, stinging hands close to his chest for a moment before he continued. 

Anduin settled on a thick branch in the middle of the leaf-filled tree. With his bleeding hands he wiped away tears lingering on his cheeks. He was mad at himself for not being able to help his father… and he was mad that he forgot to put his gloves back on before he left. He held his raw-red hands out in front of him and frowned at the welted scars protruding from the sleeve pulled down to his elbow. A few thin ones covered his fingers, teeth marks marred the space between his index finger and thumb. 

He itched to bite it just to see the scar clearer again. 

_ You haven’t done it since just before she died. You told yourself you wouldn’t do it again because she was gone. Don’t break that promise.  _

“I just wanted to make him feel better, but he’s just feeling  _ worse,”  _ Anduin moaned pathetically, burying his face into his knees as he sobbed. “Bolvar,” he sobbed, “what would you do? Nothing I can say will ever be good enough…” 

Anduin’s fingers trembled and his teeth ground together. His lips curled back as he stretched his fingers, laying the familiar fold of skin flat as he inched his hand closer and closer to his face. 

“Your highness!” 

Anduin yelped and jolted, throwing his balance off and tilting too far sideways, toppling out of the branch he was just in. He felt the wind in his hair as he flailed his arms outward to grasp onto the thick bark of the branch he was just above. 

The wood hit his ribs with a solid thump and he lost all of the breath in his lungs, nearly slipping off of  _ that  _ branch too. 

Anduin scrambled up and clung to the body of the tree as he curled up on the branch, panting and rubbing at his sore chest. He whipped his head up to try and find the person who called to him. The same soldier from before stood just inside the walls of the gate. The branch he was sitting on overlooked the training yard. He was holding his wrist to his chest and limping with the sprained ankle Anduin had neglected to tend to before he fled. 

He curled up tighter against the tree and looked away from him, hoping to conceal himself further from the thick layers of leaves around him. Anduin could still feel the fresh falling tears drip down his chin, but he didn’t know why he was crying anymore. He felt awful, sore, tired, and hungry- but… he just wanted to go home and curl under his bed. 

“Your highness! Please come down!” The voice was different. The soldier had disappeared, and in his place, his superior officer for before. Anduin refused to look at him, pressing his hand against his pulsing ribs. He grit his teeth as they gave another throb.  _ It hurts to breathe…  _

“Go get the king! Tell him it’s about his son.” Anduin’s eyes flew wide, and he nearly turned to begin pleading to just  _ leave him alone.  _ Father was angry enough already, he didn’t want to make it worse! He didn’t even know how to fix it!

_ I don’t want to talk to him.  _ Anduin bemoaned, slumping against the tree and pressing his boots against the opposite branch, glaring daggers at the leaves as his tears dried.  _ What am I going to say to him? I don’t want to bring up B- _

“Anduin Llane Wrynn! You get down from that tree  _ right  _ now!” 

The prince froze, and he turned his head, slow and hesitant like a rusted screw. Right below the tree stood his father, angry, sweaty, with a concerned frown marring his bruised and bloodied face. 

“Anduin. Come on. Get down!” Anduin hunkered down in his space and shook his head stubbornly, turning away from him.  _ I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to upset you further.  _

“If you don’t come down here I’m coming up there!” 

_ Oh no. Bad idea. Bad idea!  _

Within seconds he’d dropped from the tree and into his father’s waiting arms that caught him just before he reached the ground. He removed his mangled hands from his middle, and Anduin caught sight of them. He was  _ horrified.  _ The boy reached forward and took his wrist, gently skimming his fingers over his knuckles. 

_ Bolvar,  _ he whined internally, feeling tears well up in his eyes again when he saw the slight tremble in his father’s calloused fingers.  _ Bolvar, what do I do?  _

“Anduin, why were you up there?” Father knelt down in front of him, but didn’t move his hand out of the prince’s grasp. “I told you to stay where I could see you.” 

“You didn’t do much  _ watching.”  _ Anduin ground out, refusing to look at him as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling quietly. 

“Why are you crying?” 

He was starting to get frustrated with the questions he didn’t even want to answer. 

“I’m fine, Father. It was nothing. I just got mad.” 

Father sighed and squeezed his hand, keeping it in his own as he stood and nudged Anduin back to the gate. 

“Go get your bow, and fetch my sword, will you? It’s time to go home.” That was a translation for;  _ We’re talking about this when we get back. _

“Yes, Father.” 

His hand felt cold when he ran to get Shalamayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was weird to write. i honestly didnt know how. cause i felt like it should have an open ending that provides some hope, but at the same time it shows that their relationship is already kind of strained.


	3. Days Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin loses control of the Light after avoiding the urge to continuously heal his father for too long.

After Remembrance Day, Anduin couldn’t find why he felt a constant need to stick by his father’s side.

With the Light flickering nervously at his fingertips, he lingered, and he watched. It had only been a mere two weeks after the incident, something Anduin’s brain refused to remember in broad daylight but visited him in the cruelest and violent ways in his nightmares. A recurring dream, where he wasn’t fast enough, powerful enough, strong enough. The outcome was always the same. His father erupted into papery, flaky pieces, and everything sank away into the void. 

He woke up gasping as if he were drowning, with the dark, vile whispers prodding the back of his head and yet fading as he prayed for the warmth of the Light to comfort him. A few nights, when they were bad enough, he’d reached out through the bond he shared with his master. Velen always answered. He’d curl back up in bed and sink into his pillows with the protective aura wrapped around him. 

He’d have to find a way to gift his master, what with all of the help he’d provided Anduin mentally, he wanted to make sure that Velen’s extra work was appreciated. Anduin refused to even think about seeing his father. He wasn’t ten years old anymore, he couldn’t just crawl into his bed when he was frightened. 

“Your highness?” A sudden and firm voice asked suddenly. 

Anduin jumped and gasped from his stock-still position by the Lion’s Seat, head turning to the noble that stood just in front of the steps to the throne. Her eyebrows were raised and her hands planted on her hips. Her lips were curved into a frown, and her long brown hair was tugged into a rather tight-looking braid. 

“Yes, Lady Lianne?” 

“... You’re sparking.” Anduin cocked a brow and looked down at his hands. His eyes became wide as he watched sparks of holy fire spit through his cloth gloves. 

“Oh!” he laughed nervously, cheeks flushing a bright red as his gaze shifted to his father, who seemed curious and concerned. Watching silently. “Uhm...Please, please excuse me.” 

Anduin stumbled out of the throne room quickly. He hadn’t even realized he’d lost control of his concentration- nor that the Light seemed to have been _responding_ to his nerves-?

He nearly tripped down the stairwell. His hands felt like they were burning… Holy fire hurt so much, especially with no control. Velen said it would be painful at first, but this? This was terrible and dangerous for the people around him! Light, he should start morning meditation again...

He reached the tiny shore of the lake just below the courtyard, yanked his gloves off, and shoved his sparking hands into the water. The cool waves were like instant heaven, sinking his arms in until his hands hit soft sand and tiny pebbles. It soaked his sleeves, but he could hardly care. He inhaled shakily and wiped away pain-induced tears with his shoulder. 

He heard the familiar thump of his father’s heavily plated boots, and hung his head between his shoulders with a wet laugh. 

“That was quite embarrassing, hm?” Father asked, kneeling down beside Anduin as he lifted his arms from the water, and watched fruitlessly as they began sparking again. He flinched as his skin began to burn, and little red spots appeared wherever the sparks popped out from. “Does it hurt?” A gauntleted hand reached for him and Anduin shuffled away. 

“Yes but don’t get too close! They might hit you.” 

“Anduin, if it’s hurting you we should go to Velen.” Father tried to reason, reaching for him again. Anduin moved away from him.

“I can figure this out myself, okay?!” He stuck his hands back into the lake angrily, the burning getting more intense each time he moved them. 

It’s like the Light was screaming for a subject to cast the fire upon, and he _wasn’t_ about to let it be his father. Burning his father would be terrible. Anduin wasn’t going to let him get close enough to.

“Anduin, they don't look like regular sparks.” 

“Fire sparks and holy fire sparks are different.” He said tersely, grunting frustratedly when he yanked his hands out and they began to burn again. 

“I mean they don’t look like regular holy fire sparks. They’re white, not yellow.” Anduin removed his hands from the water, slower this time. The tiny sparks that followed _were_ white, and they were glowing softly every time they emerged from his palms. 

He saw his father’s gloved hands dip into view, and they snatched his palms before Anduin could move away. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to burn right through the cloth, just his own. Anduin tilted his head. The sparks seemed to morph with his father’s glove and then disappear. Like he was absorbing it?

In a moment of desperation to get his hands to _stop burning,_ he shoved his palms against his father’s chest. 

The cease of sparking was immediate, and it brought a slumping relief to his shoulders as he leaned forward and let the Light channel into him. 

“So, you wanted to heal me?” 

Anduin shot up, alarmed. “You’re hurt?! Why didn’t you tell me-!” 

“No, no, no,” Father took hold of him and tugged him between his legs, letting the prince lean against his chest. “I’m fine. But your hands, they kept sparking every time you got close to me. Even at dinner.”

“... They have?” He asked meekly, staring down at his knuckles. 

“You never noticed? I thought it was painful?” Father’s hand was ungloved when it rested against the priest’s, feeling the flow of the Light even more powerful than before.

“... I’ve been lost in thought more often lately… I probably didn’t realize.” He mumbled, yawning and resting his head against the space beside his pauldron. It felt as if the nervous energy he’d been bouncing for the past few weeks was just streaming out of him. Anduin blinked sluggishly. _I’m so tired._

“You’ve been sparking since _that_ day,” father huffed, wrapping his arms around his son. “I asked Velen about it a week ago. He said you’d been… contacting him?” He asked that as if he was expecting an answer, but didn’t wait long enough for one, “He said that the Light sometimes reacted to emotions too strongly if the person wasn’t in control. But, I didn’t want to press you. Not so soon. I figured it was just nerves, and it didn’t look particularly harmful… Anduin?” The prince blinked again and yawned, his jaw popping quietly. 

“’M sorry, just… tired.” 

“Nightmares, huh?” Father carded his hands through his hair. 

“Mhm..” He was on the verge of sleep, the Light trickling from his palms slowing to faded sparking as he began to fall under. 

“Nap, then. I’ll be right here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my new headcanon; when priests are nervous their hands spark either holy fire or healing spells stuff  
> when they're scared they erupt into holy fire period.
> 
> ahahahhahaahhaha  
> (and because they can't control it its painful)


	4. Every Day Gets Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian feels hopeless when he's unable to alleviate Anduin's constant state of pain.

Varian had an overwhelming need to keep Anduin within view at all times. 

After everything, everything that had happened. He wasn’t going to let that damn teenager out of his sight _ever_ _again._

Not that he looked to be in the mood for rebellion, he looked quite upset or angry most of the time, thought Varian hadn’t elected to ask him why just yet. Everything was still too fresh. It was close to talking about Remembrance Day too close to the date. The way his face would scrunch, his eyes would become troubled.

He knew it had to do with Wrathion. He noticed how close they were, the way he would smile and act toward him. It was too comfortable. More comfortable than Varian would  _ ever  _ allow if he had thought to say anything about it. 

But then, after Garrosh’s escape, after the truth of the trial, Anduin wasn’t the same. Granted, he hadn’t been the young, peppy prince since Bolvar died. There were fleeting attempts to be the normal prince everyone knew and loved, but that Anduin was hidden away behind the thickest cloud of grief. One that Varian could hardly get through. 

But sometimes, Varian noticed the days- which were becoming more often- when Anduin seemed to be in more pain than he normally would be. 

… Which hurt to think about. He didn’t want Anduin in  _ any  _ pain, but Velen said it was residual, and it would only grow with age. 

But the flinching when he stepped, sometimes he’d be half-assedly dressed, Wyll holding his comments on his tongue because of the way he  _ walked  _ like he was just barely keeping himself upright. 

Varian would rush to help him.

The bulky brace on his knee and back were always prevalent on those days. The grimace and whimpers of pain were more evident. He walked like a crippled eighty-year-old man, not a healthy fifteen-year-old boy. 

Varian tried to help him as much as possible. 

“Do you know if-” Anduin cut himself off with a strangled gasp of pain, his knees buckling as he collapsed against the table just behind him. Varian dropped the quill he was holding and turned on his heel, ready to maneuver him to the nearest chair and order the battle master to fetch a healer. 

Anduin hadn’t fallen, but he looked damn near close to. Varian wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hefting the boy close to his side as he almost dragged him to the waiting chair in the corner. It wasn’t one of  _ those  _ days, but it looked like it was turning into one. Anduin fumbled with his brace once he sat down, tightening it…  _ too  _ much, while his face turned a ghost white. 

He looked like he was in pain and he was sweating, but he managed an exhausted smile as he looked up at Varian. 

“Thank you, Father.”

He’d just been there, probably too much, but he couldn’t help it. Anduin just… he wasn’t  _ okay.  _ He needed help sometimes, and he didn’t trust others around it to provide that help. 

He’d watched as Anduin walked into his office, and promptly fell over. 

He’d watched as Anduin sat down for dinner and heard a snapping from his back that was so loud it startled the guards. 

The yell of pain immediately after didn’t help. 

Each time he’d rushed Anduin back to his chambers and watched as he was fed pain medication instead of Light, knowing that… it wasn’t how it could heal. The bones were already healed, but the pain was still too much for him to bear. 

He sat by his bedside and just kept asking himself what he could do, but the answer every time was fruitless. There was nothing he  _ could  _ do. Anduin had to suffer through a long and painful recovery just to be in even more pain for the rest of his life. 

There was nothing he could do except  _ be  _ there for him, and Varian planned on doing just that for as long as he needed to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> varian being a good, helpful dad because i have good taste
> 
> hope you enjoyed the fic  
> let me know what you think!   
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> anduin was so fucking clingy after varian came back dont like to my face.


End file.
